


bare face, brave heart

by ninemoons42



Series: Dragon Age Inquisition - Kiriya - Original Flavor [20]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Banter, Companionable Snark, Dragon Age Quest: Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts, Established Relationship, F/M, Families of Choice, Oaths & Vows, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-03 16:43:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5298728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninemoons42/pseuds/ninemoons42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the run-up to the grand ball at the Winter Palace in Halamshiral, Kiriya confers with her family and Inner Circle and advisers. Shenanigans ensue.</p><p>(Also, how many people lost that bet, Kiriya wonders. All she knows is that Cullen won something.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Flurrying movements and flickering shadows cast out into the corridor from the doors up ahead, bright flaring candles and torches spilling warmly onto the stones beneath her feet, and for a moment she thought she could take a clean breath, a deep breath, a breath that didn’t have any ceremony or weight behind it other than that of her own name, her own identity. A breath that she could take just as herself, just as Kiriya Trevelyan, no titles and no duties and no crushing expectations.

Steps in the corridor, behind her. The familiar tread of a familiar pair of boots. Kiriya didn’t move, didn’t step forward, didn’t turn around. Only gripped the edges of her shawl, pulling it more closely around her shoulders. Damn these drafty bits of Skyhold anyway, she thought.

A hand on her shoulder. A welcome scent: layers of tea and parchment and ink and candle-smoke. Steel and oil and leather and warm salt. She leaned back, trusting, and closed her eyes. An arm around her waist, and a soft breath against her temple.

“I want to stay here in this moment with you.” Cullen’s quiet murmur, gentle and yearning. “Keep it close to my heart for the rest of my days.”

“If only that kind of magic existed,” Kiriya whispered back. “The kind of magic you’d really need.”

“Yes. But alas for our duties.”

“You’ve said that,” she breathed. “You talk about being broken by duty.”

“It’s been known to happen.” Somber words.

She turned around and wrapped her arms around him. “Stay with me.” She thought for something to lighten the melancholy settling in lines around his mouth. “If only because I need someone to keep me alive. Someone to watch my back, at Halamshiral.”

That got her a snort, but it sounded a little amused, so she shrugged one shoulder and stepped back from him. Ironic smirk pulling up the corner of Cullen’s mouth. She tapped it with a fingertip. “Yes, that exactly. You’ll be doing me a favor, Commander, if you keep that on. If you keep me steady.”

“I’ll do what I can, my Lady Inquisitor,” was the half-mocking response. 

And so Kiriya nodded, once, and moved toward the open doors, toward the rising hum of conversations running together.

Torches set into brackets on the walls. A long table running the length of the room, and every place filled. Her eyes swept the room, lingering fondly on each familiar face.

Iron Bull at one end of the table, leaning into Krem’s personal space. The two of them whispering to each other, all intent words and intense scowls, gesturing enough to nearly knock their tankards over -- but when she reached over and tapped Iron Bull’s shoulder he snapped to attention and gave her a toothy grin. “Thanks for not volunteering me for this mission, boss,” he said.

“Don’t think you’re getting out of work that easily,” she said, wagging an admonishing finger at him, to Krem’s amused snort.

Rounding the table to a cluster of elegant accents. Five chairs placed close together, and no two drinking vessels alike. As she watched, Cassandra glanced morosely into the depths of a battered camp cup -- dented near the bottom, not just once but three times -- and pushed it slightly away, into the center of the table. A crystal goblet next to a delicately painted teacup: Vivienne and Josephine, and they sounded like they were talking about lace and taffeta and other things that Kiriya only dimly remembered from her life in a nobleman’s house. Leliana was leaning on the arm of Josephine’s chair, elegant fingers toying with a clear little shot glass that was currently empty -- but then Dorian produced a flask from somewhere in his sleeves and shook it invitingly at her.

“Ladies and Altus,” she murmured, and all of them looked at her, and she remembered to stand straight, shoulders unbowed. “This is quite some tea party I seem to have intruded upon.”

“Only because you called this meeting in the first place, sweet girl,” Dorian drawled. “Do you want a drink?”

“Later -- in fact I’ll want to try all your drinks.”

Josephine giggled. “I’ll remember to put something else in the tea for you.”

“Thanks,” Kiriya said.

“Empty already?” another voice said, and Kiriya turned as Varric reached for the cup that Cassandra had set aside. He was sitting more or less across the table from her, and there was a dark-green bottle between him and -- Kiriya blinked -- Cole, who was running a fingertip along the rim of a tumbler. “Tsk, Seeker, keep asking for refills and people might think you’re trying to drown yourself or something. Don’t you have an Inquisition to run? Or bears to kill?”

Kiriya rather thought Cassandra had the right of it when she snorted and shook her empty cup threateningly.

She rounded the table and leaned her cheek briefly against Cole’s, smiling at the scent of baked bread that clung to his sleeve. Sugar crystals clinging to his wrists. “Where you are going, you will see nothing but false faces.”

“Not just masks,” she agreed. 

“I want to go with you, but -- my hat.”

“I want you to go with me, but -- I need you here, too,” Kiriya said.

Cole nodded and pressed a brief kiss to her cheek, and she stepped away from him -- only for Sera to swoop in next to her. The powerful scent of oranges. Kiriya blinked and asked, “Do I want to know where all of that came from?”

A toothy grin. “Not telling you anyways. But you should have one.”

“Just one,” Kiriya agreed, as Sera squeezed in between Krem and Varric, and exchanged an orange for a swig of _whatever_.

Solas and Blackwall sitting in separate corners of the room -- she tilted her head at one of them. “Sure you won’t come any closer?”

Blackwall grunted, but looked amused all the same. “I can hear you just fine even if you’re over there at the head of the table. Right place for you to be anyway. Can’t have you skulking around.”

“I’m a rogue,” Kiriya pointed out, gently. “We kind of do the whole skulking thing.”

“Have you met Varric?”

Kiriya stared, and chuckled quietly. “You might have a point.”

“Get on with you.” Something fond in the lines of that weathered face.

She popped an orange segment into her mouth and joined Cullen at the head of the table. Two empty seats at her left hand. “Where are my sisters?” 

Before he could answer: hurrying footsteps. “Sorry,” Yelena said as she smoothed her dusty sleeves and took another orange from Sera’s basket. Kiriya offered her one of her small knives, but she shook her head politely. 

“The fault is mine,” Elisavet said as she sat down. “Stupid injuries. I can’t even lift my sword properly.”

Kiriya clucked at the bandages tied around her sister’s upper arm. “You’re supposed to be _resting_ , and yet I know for a fact that you went back to see the healers this afternoon.”

Elisavet scowled, and Yelena rolled her eyes, and Kiriya sighed at both of them, before turning back to Cullen. “When was the last time we had all of them in the same room at the same time?”

“Does the throne room count?”

She thought about that for a moment. “Maybe. But I wasn’t talking to everyone.”

“So this is the first time.” His hand was warm around hers. A firm squeeze, reassuring. 

She nodded to him, once, and got to her feet. Cleared her throat. “If I might have your attention.”

Expectant faces. Not strangers. Her friends, her family. Warmth in their eyes, and she thought she could almost set her shawl aside. Almost. 

“Halamshiral,” she said, and there were several nods. One or two frowns. “As I understand we’re setting out soon -- so this is when we talk about who’s going, who’s not, and what happens to Skyhold while I’m gone.” She folded her arms and nodded at Josephine. “You have the invitations.”

“Yes,” was the lilting reply. “You are expected to bring people with you. A small entourage.”

Kiriya scowled. “Sorry. It’s not you. I’m not fond of that word -- it was something I used to hear, when I was much younger.”

Out of the corner of her eye she thought she saw Leliana hide an approving smile. 

“Then -- we are your companions,” Josephine said. “Leliana and Cullen and I.”

“Cassandra,” Kiriya said. She met her friend’s eyes. “Please don’t throw me to the bears. You’re coming with me.”

“I would hardly be any use to you when it comes to politicking.”

“I don’t know anyone in polite society.” 

“And -- I do. Some of them.” A brief frown. “Very well. If you wish my assistance in this, then I stand with you.”

“Thank you,” Kiriya said. “And that means -- Varric, you’re up, too.”

“Steel,” Varric groaned.

“I’d be an idiot to separate you and Cassandra,” and she covered her mouth to hide a smile, very studiously not looking in the Seeker’s direction. “Besides, I know this fairly famous rogue who keeps telling me to make sure my enemies are distracted before I give ’em some knife. What better distraction than the bestselling author of _Hard in Hightown_ and _Swords and Shields_?”

Varric tried to look piteous and chagrined, and failed -- but he _did_ succeed in getting the others to laugh. Cullen, Yelena, Krem; even Vivienne, who hid her amusement in her wine.

“That’s two,” Kiriya said, after a moment. “I need a third. I suppose it’s too late to ask for volunteers, though, because -- ” And she threw a smile at Dorian.

Who chuckled quietly and saluted her with his flask. “Well played,” he said. “I’ll be more than happy to help you in any way I can.”

She waited for a moment to let the commentary settle, then looked to Vivienne. “You mentioned that you would try to get an invitation of your own.”

“And I will know more in the next day or so,” Vivienne said. “After all, who is going to help you look your best for the ball? We must make sure you present the perfect face to the court.”

She was used to the fond barbs about her appearance; it was easy to focus on the rest. “Well, it’ll have to be tomorrow at the most, since we’re riding the day after.”

“If all goes well, then I shall meet you at the Winter Palace.”

“I’ll cross my fingers and toes.” 

Then Kiriya took another deep breath. “As to the matter of Skyhold -- I’m not going to take any chances. I’m hardly leaving this place unprotected, but still. You’ll all have to indulge me on this one.

“Iron Bull,” she said. 

“Boss.”

“Please don’t burn Skyhold down while we’re gone. I mean, I kind of like my rooms, I’d like to come back to them.”

Krem let out a deep and gusty sigh, and then punched Iron Bull in the shoulder. “You heard the lady.”

“I have two ears and one eye, not one ear and two eyes,” was the response.

Kiriya cleared her throat. “That wasn’t entirely unexpected,” she sighed, amused despite herself. “Which is why I’m also enlisting you. Sister.” 

“Really?” Elisavet asked. “Didn’t you just say I’m supposed to be resting?”

Kiriya just hooked a thumb in the direction of a mock-scowling Iron Bull.

“All right, all right. Ugh, I should smite you, when did you get so underhanded?”

Kiriya laughed, and Yelena joined in.

“Was there anything else?” Cullen asked the table at large, and Kiriya put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed, fondly. 

“If we’re settled, then that’s that,” Kiriya said. “I’m turning in for the night.” 

A smattering of good-natured insults, and she basked in those even as she hunched her shoulders against the sharp breezes coming in from the rapidly falling night.

“Kiriya,” said a voice from nearby. Not Cullen: he was listening intently to whatever Elisavet was saying.

“Cassandra,” Kiriya said. “I suppose I should apologize -- ”

“No, no, we are not talking about that. But -- ” Was she shifting from foot to foot? “We are wading into unknown dangers.”

“Except that we have something mad to do, and we’re trying to get Orlais to join us in that mad thing, so. Believe me, I don’t want to do this, I would avoid it if I could.”

“We can’t.” Varric. Where had he come from? Kiriya carefully kept her face neutral as he slid a hand into Cassandra’s. “So we’re going to help you.”

“I’d appreciate it,” she said. “Talk in the morning?”

“Come see me at my desk,” was Varric’s response.

A softly amused curse, as he and Cassandra walked away. Kiriya raised an eyebrow at Dorian. “What is it this time?”

“I can’t believe I just lost a sovereign to _Cullen_. How is it that he knew about them -- ”

“They were hardly being discreet,” Kiriya giggled. “I mean, this is Cassandra and Varric we’re talking about here.”

“Perhaps you have a point. I’m still sore about it though.”

She leaned into his shoulder, let him hold her hand for a moment. “So, Halamshiral.”

“What a beautiful place. Shame it’s full of fools in tasteless masks.”

Kiriya nodded, vigorously.

“Nothing for it but to go. And we’ll back you up.”

“That was the idea.”


	2. Chapter 2

Cullen patted the nuzzle of his horse, and offered it a wrinkled apple from one of his saddlebags, and waited -- waited for the approaching hooves to come to a stop. 

“Halamshiral,” and there was a deeply hidden tremor in Kiriya’s voice, small enough that he thought he was the only one who could hear it. 

“I don’t like this place,” he muttered.

“Does anyone?” The warmth of her hand -- even through her habitual half-gloves -- and the delicacy of her fingers. He clung to her, and he didn’t care who noticed.

Rattling wheels, approaching, and fluttering curtains: Cullen looked up. Concerned eyes. “This is really your kind of place,” he said to the two women peering out at him. “My skills lie elsewhere.”

“And they are vital skills, no?” Leliana murmured. 

“Not here,” and he blinked, because there was a quiet not-quite-echo to his words.

“Inquisitor,” Josephine said, and Cullen thought she sounded upset.

“I’m just here to be -- to be the mask,” Kiriya said. “The mask of the Inquisition. There’s work that needs doing and it won’t be done by me.” A small smile, a little splintered around the edges. “I should say -- I’ll be relying very heavily on you, Leliana, and on you, Josephine. If Vivienne gets here, then I’ll lean upon her, if she’s willing. This is -- no place for me. I’ve long since turned my back on places like this.”

“I think you had better get in here,” Leliana said, after a moment.

He blinked when she speared him with a Look, one just as piercing as the one she’d leveled at Kiriya, and so he clambered reluctantly after her into the carriage. Four people inside and now it was a tight fit. He felt distinctly out of place in his armor.

“Inquisitor -- no.” Josephine shook her head, minutely. “No, I will not call you by that title. You’ll be hearing it soon enough. Kiriya,” she said. “Could I please, please ask you to -- to set that thought of yours aside? You are not just here to be an ornament to any of us. You are not disposable. You are not something that will be cast aside. 

“You are precisely and completely the opposite: You are our leader. You call the dance, down in those decorated palaces and shadowed alcoves. By your direction we move; by your will we aid those who ask for our help.”

“We are your advisers, it is true,” Leliana said, smoothly picking up the thread. “We suggest alternative courses of action. We present different viewpoints. But ultimately -- the directive comes from you. You make the decision. And -- you know this to be true -- we have been successful because of you. Have you led us yet astray?”

He watched the slight flush as it pinked in Kiriya’s cheeks. “We’ve had -- we’ve all had our disagreements.”

“Still you prevailed, and by that and the Maker’s grace -- here we are,” Leliana said. “Here we are, and we’ve been asked to lend our strength to none other than Empress Celene. What does that mean?”

“That you’re brilliant people.”

“And so are you,” Josephine said. “Please don’t discount yourself.”

Cullen blinked, again, when Leliana nudged his shoulder, none too gently. “What?”

“Words of encouragement,” Leliana said. “Your Inquisitor is in need of a few words. From you.”

Was Josephine laughing? She had to be, he thought, as he watched the fine lines in the corners of her eyes deepen.

He took a deep breath. Looked at Kiriya instead.

The way she sat up on the cushions, rigid despite her hunched shoulders. Her fingers twisting together in her lap. Since the first time he’d seen her wear them, seated in her throne and facing her father, she had made a habit out of wearing her black leathers everywhere in Skyhold. A severe figure upon the cloud-crowned battlements, a stark contrast to the flash and fluttering fire of her reflexes and her knives, a figure out of story as she rode forth on her missions. 

Kiriya who was always to be found in the thick of the fight, who ran ahead of the ranks, who faced dragons and her own flesh and blood without flinching -- the same Kiriya who huddled in corners and sat close enough to a fireplace to singe her sleeves.

Kiriya who faced his never-ending nightmares -- and fought her own like a mad thing.

What skill did he have with words? He wasn’t even sure he’d be able to _survive_ Halamshiral. There were enemies to be found in the Winter Palace, of that he was more than certain -- the problem was that they weren’t enemies he could cut down with a sword, or bash away with a shield.

He felt helpless, and doubly so, as the silence in the carriage lengthened.

And he didn’t deserve the kindness in the hands that she laid upon his knee. “Cullen. It’s all right -- ”

What part of her did he deserve, after all? 

And yet there were her hands. Her eyes on him. That soft benediction of her smile, that he clung to, in the gray morning-afters of his nightmares.

And yet she had him, heart and mind and body and soul.

He owed her something, owed her -- 

He opened the door. “Come with me?”

Eyes on them; he only needed to turn his head a little. Not just Leliana and Josephine. The carriage beyond: Cassandra and Varric, and Dorian. The outrider, and anyone else who would happen to pass them on the Imperial Highway.

“Cullen,” Kiriya said, but there was no sound of a question in it. No hint of fear in her eyes. Her fingers trembled as he brought her hand up to his mouth. As he brushed a kiss over her knuckles.

“They’re asking me to encourage you,” he said. He felt the corner of his mouth pull up in a brief sharp smirk. “Will you accept it if I didn’t do it with words?”

A soft laugh. “Depends. What are you planning to do exactly?”

He was just a man. Just a commander. Not a hero from a novel or from a legend.

But perhaps he was hers -- and so he let her hand go, though he wanted to linger. Wanted to stay close.

Cullen took a step back, his eyes never leaving Kiriya’s face as he unbuckled his sword belt. A slight fumble. He had to take it in stride. She’d accepted him for who he really was, after all. 

The wind that blew up then carried Varric’s words away -- had he been asking a question? -- but Cullen heard Cassandra’s shushing noise clearly, and he wanted to smile. No distractions. He grasped his sheathed sword in both hands, palms up.

Kiriya said his name. A mere whisper. He thought he caught a glimpse of understanding on her face -- 

But he was looking down. Bowing to her. He was opening his hands. 

And he went down to his knees.

“I offer you my sword -- and as I offer it up to you I offer myself.”

He held his breath. A ceremony from an old story. He waited for her response, hoped she knew the response.

A footstep, approaching. He saw her boots stop, just a few inches away. Maker, he wanted to raise his eyes, wanted to see her, but he had to wait. 

“You,” he heard Kiriya say. The sound trailing off. “By Andraste’s grace,” she said, again, more softly. “I never imagined -- ”

Hope surged in his chest, a thrilling beat.

“You. And your sword. And your everything,” Kiriya whispered. “I accept.”

And he allowed himself to smile -- but still he kept his eyes down.

His reward was the touch of her hand to his wrist -- and then the weight of the sword leaving his hands. 

“Cullen,” Kiriya said.

He looked up.

The bright smile and the trail of a tear down her cheek.

Her hands holding his sword against her heart. 

He wrapped his hands around hers. Whispered, “Halamshiral won’t know what hit it.”

“It’ll know,” Kiriya said. “They’ll know. It’ll be you and me. Us.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kiriya's Halamshiral outfit [HERE](http://ninemoons42-inquisition.tumblr.com/post/134276103908/spending-time-working-on-my-wicked-eyes-and-wicked).

It was too late to run and it was too late to draw her knives, and Maker help her, she’d grown entirely too fond of her outfit, she couldn’t ruin it now, and blood was _so_ hard to get out of silk.

An encouraging nod, slow and deliberate and riveting, on her left. Kiriya threw a smile at Leliana. Turned toward the man in the mask as he advanced on her. Voices in her ears, the long-forgotten reminders of her long-gone etiquette mistress, and she raised herself to her full height -- not much, her shoes unable to lend her precious inches at her own vociferous insistence. The imperious lilt of her chin she borrowed from her sisters’ fondly mocking anecdotes; the curve of her offered hand she copied from the princesses in the little storybooks she’d left behind in Ostwick. Josephine’s whisper in her ear, a full name, an interminable list of ranks and titles. “Grand Duke of Verchiel, Chevalier, Gaspard de Chalons. I am grateful for your kind invitation to this place, on this night.”

“Such formal words, my Lady Inquisitor,” was the response, smooth and unctuous and entirely too reminiscent of the past. She swallowed the bile that burned in the back of her throat and allowed the man in the mask to kiss the air just above her knuckles. “But perhaps we must play our roles to the utmost. Permit me to approach you and your -- ah -- companions.” Lower tones, now, and she was forced to incline her head as regally as she could. “Let me assure you, I’m under no illusions as to your presence here -- and if you were to make out a list of suspects, of people working against the Empress, then you need look no further than Ambassador Briala -- ”

Kiriya cut her eyes in Cullen’s direction -- she wanted to smile when he nodded, brisk and familiar and grounding, and immediately went to confer with Cassandra and Varric and Dorian.

Here she was, still trapped -- she couldn’t shuffle her feet, but she was glad for the sleeves that hid the trembling of her hands. Away from here, away from these machinations -- let her be released into her natural element, let her go from talking about court intrigues and let her _do something --_

“It is time, and now we shall be presented to the court,” Gaspard said, suddenly. “Follow my lead, if you please.”

This was it. Elaborately figured black silk swirling around her ankles, hands both framed and obscured by wide white turned-back cuffs. Three buttons running from her throat to her left shoulder, a bright line of silverite embroidery for contrast, and -- hidden in the expertly tailored billowing back -- not only her customary knives but also, and on her sisters’ insistence, the black stiletto on its necklace-chain.

It wasn’t the gown that was the treasure -- though the complicated skirted-coat-over-wide-trousers outfit was like nothing Kiriya’d ever seen or heard of before, completely unique and completely daring as it marked her out like an otherworldly somber presence among panniered skirts and lace dripping everywhere.

It was her weapons that she relied on, her weapons and her companions, and she glanced over her shoulder as they arrayed themselves behind her, waiting to be announced -- 

“Kiriya of Ostwick in the Free Marches. The Lady Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste!”

Whispers on the steps below her. She blessed Leliana’s instincts and somewhat _pointed_ insistence -- was the court looking at her outfit or at her shoes? Entirely out of place, soft and supple slippers bedecked in a mosaic of scarlet shards of glass?

Let them speculate about her clothes, let them gossip about her seamstress, let them talk about the simple soft fall of her hair and the silverite chains threaded from her temples to her shoulders.

She swept the room with her eyes, assessing every exit, every soldier and guard and hanger-on -- 

Cullen and Leliana and Josephine with their titles, and Cassandra with her sharp rebuke, and the scandalized reactions divided almost equally between Varric and Dorian. Something in her mind still recoiled as she took advantage of that scandal -- they were her friends, after all -- but on the other hand, she could also imagine that her own ears were still stinging from the repeated admonishments. 

“We could hardly take it amiss, _sorora_ ,” Dorian had insisted, looking torn between amusement and the sharp edge of his formidable cunning. “You are taking us along for our accomplishments and our advantages, and it would be very, very poor form if you didn’t use us in precisely that way.”

“I hate to think about using you,” she’d said, frowning at him over her tea.

“All right, all right, you want another way of thinking about it, then how about this. You asked us to help you. We’re doing that just by being here, just by acting as those simpering fools expect us to. We’re running interference for you and if we don’t do that, we might as well throw ourselves out in disgrace -- and tomorrow there will no longer be an Orlesian Empire.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” and Kiriya’d smirked and drew out the word. “ _Fratris_.”

“Silly woman! I wondered when you’d finally get around to acknowledging our familial ties!” And then laughter and a brief embrace.

A new face at the top of the stairs, a familiar name. Kiriya now eyed Gaspard’s scowl, tightening in passing as his sister Florianne was announced -- and she observed how quickly that scowl went away as the final name was given voice.

“Empress Celene the First!”

Kiriya fixed her smile onto her face, though her cheek muscles protested: a handful of pleasantries, a dash of innuendo, and then all was done, and she glided as regally as she could to the nearest alcove, guided by the flash of Leliana’s beckoning hand.

“Well done,” Josephine said. “That accent was the perfect touch.”

“Yelena bullied me into learning it before we left,” Kiriya said. “Old family trick. Oh, thank you,” and she held on carefully to the cup of wine that Cullen pressed on her. “Shame I can’t drink it.”

“No more than a pretended sip,” Leliana said. “I know you wish to get started, so let’s to our work.”

“Away from these fools, I hope. _Far_ away,” Cullen muttered, and Kiriya nodded, vigorously.

Murmurs of secrets and mercenaries and shameful things foolishly written down. Lockpicks, and bits of stone carved into prancing halla. “We should have brought a bag of some kind, to carry all these things in,” she muttered as she tilted yet another letter toward a candle’s flickering flame. Lives and names and reputations, piles of parchment and elegant scrolling handwriting and terrible knowledge.

“Give me the letters,” Cassandra said, “you must free up your hands to look for anything else that we might need.”

“Or you might want your knives instead,” Varric said, and she went up onto her toes, and crept along the corridor to where her friend was listening intently at a door. “Not the pretty black one either. I mean the big ones, because that sounds like trouble even when they’re trying to keep it under wraps.”

“Not exactly reassuring,” Kiriya said, and she picked the lock carefully, and -- 

Too many things at once! A muffled cry, a low rumbling roar, the familiar copper-stink of spilled blood -- and she threw herself forward, silent like a storm on the rapid move. The chinks and the cracks in armor. Blood splattering upon fine rugs and drapes. The lifeless gazes of the fallen.

Shouts from very close by, warnings and curses suddenly bitten off and falling in shattered pieces to the fine inlaid floors.

Pulse of magic, and Kiriya idly dodged a clumsy slash that had been aimed at her cheek -- grabbed another opponent -- knife working in and out of a bared throat in less time than it took her to call out -- 

“What are you doing?” Cassandra asked as she kicked another lifeless body away from her shield. “Are you trying to tell them we’re here?”

“Actually no,” and she thought she was the only one to feel that electric pulse in her veins, a magical signature that could belong to only one person -- and that a friend, for which she was very grateful. “I’m trying to tell them to get out of the way, because _she’s_ here.”

“Who?”

Instead of replying Kiriya held up a fist -- and the door into the next set of rooms simply vanished in a shivering flash of light -- light that snaked tendrils up her leg and her raised arm, a bright thread that connected her, if only briefly, to a stately form and a familiar raised eyebrow. “My compliments, darling Kiriya -- you do clean up quite nicely, when you put your mind to it.”

And Kiriya swept her a bow as she’d only begrudgingly done back in the ballroom. “Thank you for your assistance, Madame de Fer.”

A regal nod. “Now if only you’d hurry, Kiriya dear, we’ve still a show to put on, or have I mistaken this task of yours for naught more than a simple walk along the shores of the Waking Sea?”

Kiriya laughed softly and led the others through more rooms, more skirmishes. The body of an assassin in harlequinade clothes. “Varric, question,” she said as they headed back toward Leliana’s position.

“Shoot, Steel.”

“Nobles scheme and intrigue like they eat and drink and breathe, right?”

“Generally, yeah, they do things like that.” A pause to stab another handful of assassins in the back, and Kiriya picked her way carefully so as not to get any blood on her slippers. “Let me guess,” he continued, “you’re wondering why we’re finding so many secrets of theirs.”

“They could, I don’t know, hide their things better.”

“There might be room enough inside their heads, as they all seem to be lacking brains,” Vivienne murmured as she cast a series of barriers and inclined her head, regally, towards another series of shifting shadows.

“We must be getting back soon,” Cassandra said. “You must be present for the dancing, Kiriya.”

“Thank the Maker for Lace,” she said, and leaned down to wipe the blood from her blades. “I’ll be right back,” she said.

One bell, and two, as she brushed past an approving Josephine. “What a show you’re putting on.”

Out, regally, into the ballroom. She almost, almost recognized the music -- close enough, she thought, reckless on the bloodlust high. 

There, there was her target.

And she raised her voice so the crowd would hear her, and said, “I would dance with you, Florianne.”


	4. Chapter 4

Demons, up ahead -- Cullen’s heart began to race -- he skidded around the corner, nearly ran right into a fleet-footed shadow -- wait. His eyes darting from side to side, trying to take the whole scene in -- were those sparkling red shoes?

“Hi,” said a sweet voice, a voice that made him smile. 

Blood on Kiriya’s hands and he took a moment to run his eyes over her. Still unscathed. Not a drop of blood on her black silks, not a scratch on her. Unholy light in her dark eyes. “Are you -- ” he began.

“Here’s hoping my lovely outfit survives this damned rift intact -- I’m kind of getting to like it,” she said, before whirling on her heel and charging back into the fray.

And coming here to Halamshiral, facing all these masks, he had never anticipated the sheer _rush_ of running into the fight just behind her -- but this, this was something else. Here he could watch her back, here he could be of use to her -- 

The flash of her smile and the flash of her blades as she darted in and out of the fray -- he couldn’t possibly hope to keep up with her, not even without the added weight of his armor -- but dare he read anything into the fact that she kept reappearing next to him, even with the ichor dripping from her knives?

No. Focus. No time to think as he lopped the head off a demon that was baring its teeth at Cassandra. As he ran his sword through the guts of a hideous wraith. Magic sizzling and flickering around him -- a familiar silhouette trying to run out of the line of fire -- 

He cursed the lack of a shield. His own body would have to do -- he cut down a trio of shades and skidded to Dorian’s side, just in time to bat _something_ away with the flat of his sword -- it flew shrieking into Vivienne’s magic (when had she gotten here, he would have to thank her for throwing a barrier over Kiriya) and sizzled into lifeless bits.

“You’re excited,” Dorian observed as he uncorked a potion bottle with his teeth. Green liquid, too bright. “Well of course you are. This is more your kind of dance.”

“I know how to swing a sword,” he said, dropping into a low guard position and sweeping another wraith’s knees clean from beneath it, then driving his sword through its head. 

“Which is, of course, not the full and absolute extent of what it is that you know -- you could try giving yourself some credit.”

“No need to chide me, I’m just doing the best I can, and if it happens to be helping Kiriya -- ”

He was expecting derisive laughter; he wasn’t expecting the commiserating nod. “You’re doing fine. And so is she.”

So Cullen turned to look in Kiriya’s direction -- only all he saw was a dark whirlwind and the flashing strikes of her knives -- a whirlwind that finally came to an end as she tore her half-glove off and held the Anchor out to the rift.

A crash, a cacophony of screams, an eerie mocking whistling wind.

Then, silence. A soft laugh. 

Kiriya dropped to her knees and he didn’t get there in time -- it was Cassandra who caught her, with nothing more than a quiet, “Inquisitor.”

The steady drumbeat of heeled boots upon the floors, and the approval in the lines in Vivienne’s face. “Well done.”

“You’re just saying that,” he heard Kiriya say, “because nothing happened to my outfit.”

“That might still be a problem,” Cassandra snorted. “We have yet to deal with Florianne.”

He blinked, and thought carefully, and said, “She can’t have gotten far. I spent the night checking on the guards around the ballroom itself. I can imagine her eluding everyone else, but as long as she hasn’t done the deed yet, you’ve still got a chance.”

Kiriya nodded. “So it’s back to the ballroom for me, then?”

“Not until you’re healed,” Dorian said. Flash of magic and light, and the lines in Kiriya’s face eased away.

“Also, this,” Varric said.

Cullen wanted to frown -- but Kiriya snatched at the offered flask and swallowed a hasty gulp, and afterwards squared her shoulders again. “Thank you, I needed that. Tastes awful though.”

“Just means you have good taste in things that can make you drunk, Steel.”

“Ugh,” she said. 

And then she looked to him. Soft smile playing around her mouth. “You were incredible, just now.”

“And so were you.” He confined himself to gripping her shoulder warmly, gently. “But we can’t stop now, not yet. We still have an Empress to save.”

That made her grimace. “After everything I’ve learned tonight I’m not sure she deserves it. I’m not sure any of them do.”

“Inquisitor,” Vivienne said.

He watched as Kiriya held up a hand. “Peace, Madam de Fer, I am only speaking of my feelings. Feelings that I am certainly capable of putting aside. I know what’s riding on this night. I know what I need to do.” A wince, that he echoed as he listened to her next words. “But I won’t stand idly by and let the deaths of too many people -- past and present and planned alike -- go unnoticed and unremembered, all in the name of stupid _power_.”

“I should write that down,” Cullen heard Varric say -- and then Cassandra handed him a pen, of all the things.

“So what comes next?” Dorian asked.

Kiriya didn’t answer, at least not in words -- and Cullen let her go, was left standing in her wake, as she took a step forward before _vanishing_ in that uncanny way of hers, in a plume of salt-scented smoke. 

“Flashy,” Dorian muttered, and Cullen thought he sounded approving.

“Let us follow,” Cassandra said.

Leliana and Josephine falling in with them as the buzz of outraged conversation rose higher and higher -- and when he stepped into the ballroom proper Florianne was falling to her knees, and Kiriya was stepping aside. Men in heavy plate armor and full masks dragging the disgraced Grand Duchess away.

The way Kiriya was standing, scanning the crowd -- Cullen narrowed his eyes -- who was she looking for?

His heart caught in his throat as he thought -- was it _him_?

So he stared at her, steady and sure. Orlesian manners be damned. He had never understood coyness -- he saw why it was needed, sometimes, but he couldn’t see its use now. He wanted her to see that he was with her, every step of the way. He wanted her to _understand_.

And when she met his eyes -- her hands fisted together, meeting over her chest, in an exact mirror of her acceptance of him, back on the Imperial Highway. A brief gesture, and he regretted that it was brief. 

“There is more that needs to be done,” Leliana said -- but Kiriya was already turning away, moving after Gaspard and Briala and Celene.

Festivities on the floor, the elaborate twirl and flash of some other dance as the men and women in their finery sought some fresh distraction from the tension of the past few moments -- he broke through the laughing lilting nobility, single-minded in his pursuit -- but the crush in the ballroom was too dense, too much, and he was still only halfway to Kiriya when Celene and Gaspard reappeared. 

Peace in Orlais, to the shock of its gathered court -- but Cullen only had eyes for the woman in black at the very head of the hall. Austere and determined, every dark line of her, from the soft curls that brushed her shoulders to the red-stained reflections cast by her shoes. A few words were all she needed; a slight gesture all that was required. Around him the court fell into its patterns of gossip and speculation and ambition.

Something familiar about the moon-fair woman with the hooded golden eyes. When and where had he seen her before? No matter. He shook the thought away. Turned back toward Kiriya -- who now slumped over an elaborate stone railing. Starlight pooling around her, and the strains of music from the ballroom.

He made sure to scrape his boots against the flagstones. “It’s me,” he murmured, for her ears alone.

“Cullen,” she said, and she didn’t turn around but she reached for him. A feverish warmth, a fierce grip.

Did he pull her close or did she reel him in? All he knew were the fine tremors in her shoulders, the way she pressed her cheek against the ribbons on his jacket. 

“It’s all right, it’s over,” he whispered, eventually. “You did it.”

“Over -- for now,” she agreed, faintly.

He kissed the top of her head. Lingering lavender and the harsh bouquet of spilled blood. 

How could he lift the burden from her shoulders?

“Cullen,” Kiriya whispered.

“Kiriya.”

“I don’t know what to do with myself right now.”

“I can get you a drink if you like, or -- something sweet, if they have such things at balls.”

“No, as much as I’d like that I don’t want you to leave, and I don’t want to go back in there.”

“Understandable,” he said.

“This always happens to me after I’ve been in a fight. But -- _dignity_ ,” she spat.

He laughed, softly, pressing it into her skin, into the lines lingering in her forehead. “My thoughts exactly.”

“What do people _do_ at balls anyway?”

And as if in answer, the breeze faded away on a faint sweet night-scented whistle. The music from the ballroom slowed and lingered and vanished, to be replaced by something slow and gentle and unexpected. 

Kiriya looked up at him. “Did that just happen?”

“I think it did,” he said, and: “What do people do at balls? They dance.” He kissed her, and she was warm and strong beneath his mouth, his fingertips. “Will you dance with me?”

Wide eyes, wide dark pools, and he fell into her all over again, as she rose up on her tiptoes and whispered against his cheek: “ _Yes._ ”

And all of the instructions he’d received from Josephine flew out of his head -- and all he could do was rock them from side to side, spin them in tiny circles.

She was leaning into him. She was sighing and gazing steadily into his eyes.

 _Us_ , she’d said.

He closed his eyes and leaned to her, and pressed his longing and his love into her lips.

**Author's Note:**

> I am also on [tumblr](http://ninemoons42.tumblr.com/) and my Dragon Age: Inquisition blog is [here](http://ninemoons42-inquisition.tumblr.com/).


End file.
